


Of Broken Souls

by janinne_malfoy_potter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Hogwarts Seventh Year, Horcrux Hunting, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-02-28 22:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janinne_malfoy_potter/pseuds/janinne_malfoy_potter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dumbledore's letter which Harry receives during the summer after his 6th year at Hogwarts is full of riddles and it gives Harry a headache. And after he figures out one of them, it gets even worse. A 7th year fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Unknown Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters and settings in this story, and although I might wish it were differently, they are solely the property of J. K. Rowling. No profit made.
> 
> This is my first story written in English, and as English is not my mother-tongue, I apologize for the SPaG issues this work surely contains. If there is someone willing to beta, I'd be happy to hear. This will be a story about how Voldemort was defeated, but most importantly, it will be SLASH. If you don't like, don't read. However, the more explicit scenes will be later in the story.
> 
> Also, rated M now but might eventually become Explicit.

Spring 1997

“Oh shit, Filch!“ Draco whispers to himself almost inaudibly, searching for an unlocked classroom or at least a broom closet and when he finds neither, he just runs and runs. He doesn’t know where his feet lead him and a few minutes later he stops to find out that not only he has no idea where he is, but that he is in a blind corridor, too.

“Oh, come on,“ he hisses angrily and breathes in deeply, trying to get more air into his starved lungs, when he hears shuffling footsteps coming closer to him, which means that the caretaker will catch him at any moment. Mrs. Norris pokes her head from around the corner and it seems like a really bad omen to him. “Run away, you moulted bitch!“ he hisses again, louder now, he doesn’t have much to lose, because if his breathing doesn’t give him away, the stupid cat will. He tries the door he is standing at once more, but they stay closed. He looks around the corridor hopelessly, although he knows there’s nothing he can do. It is all his fault anyway. Suddenly, the air around him moves and light breeze touches his face as something invisible moves around him.  He knows right away he isn’t alone in the corridor, but dealing with a ghost is the last thing he needs now. The air is still again and Draco knows it’s only a matter of seconds until Filch finds him. „I’m buggered,“ he tells himself under his breath and waits for the inevitable.

“You will be, unless you keep that gob of yours shut, Malfoy,“ someone whispers just behind him and, before he manages to make a sound of protest, he is dragged under a water-like, transparent cloak with a palm firmly pressed against his mouth to ensure his silence. The person - who is obviously very much alive – mutters muffled  _ _shhh__  and their warm breath washes over Draco’s neck, leaving goose-bumps all over his body and making him bite his lip to hold back a gasp. He stays frozen underneath the Invisibility Cloak (or at least he thinks it is one) and watches the confused caretaker inspect the corridor, mumbling, to himself or his goddamned cat, Draco isn’t sure. At the end, he takes a few steps to the door Draco and the not-quite-so-mysterious-anymore someone stand at. They both hold their breaths and move slowly a bit aside, as Filch stretches his hand to violently jiggle with the knob. Nothing happens, as expected. Mrs. Norris sniffs at their feet for a while and finally they both turn to leave. Draco waits until they disappear behind the corner before he dares to take in breath freely, his lungs and throat burning.

He's with his back to his saviour, and although he is almost sure he knows who they are, it is still a surprise when, after finally facing them, he meets the greenest eyes hidden behind rounded spectacles.  His sight travels over a little pointed nose, slightly pink cheeks, until he reaches full lovely-shaped red lips, now curled into a wicked smirk.

“Malfoy, care to explain what are you doing here?“ The lips now stretch into an almost half-smile and one dark eyebrow rises challengingly.

“That’s none of your business, Potter!“ Draco snarls silently, still worried Filch might return.

 “I’ve just saved your arse, so you might show a bit of gratitude, don’t you think?“ Potter says, but his grin is still firmly in place, as if he knows something Draco doesn’t. He runs a hand through his always messy black mop he calls hair and cocks his head to a side, watching Draco expectantly, and Draco isn’t sure whether he likes it or not. The idea that he even might consider being under Potter’s scrutiny as something potentially  _ _likable__  sends his mind into confusion. He has to pull himself together.

“You won't tell me what to do or not. I certainly didn’t ask for your help,“ Draco replies eventually, his voice a bit raised to make his point clear, although he knows Potter is right. „And stop sticking yourself onto me, will you?“ he adds when he realizes that, although the janitor is long gone, Potter’s chest is still pressed firmly against his. It’s hot and moving as Potter breathes. It’s not at all  _ _nice__.

 “Oh, really?“ Potter’s grin widens, but he doesn’t move. He scans Draco as if searching for something and, to his horror, Draco feels heat flooding his face. He tries to avoid the green gaze, so he moves his eyes somewhere else, somewhere more comfortable, like the juicy lips of his school rival. In the hindsight, it might not have been the best choice, either. The heat from his face seems to cover his whole body now and Draco is seriously considering calling Filch back to simply get him out of this inappropriate situation.  The thing is, what exactly makes it  _ _inappropriate__? He’s been close to Potter before. Of course, he has never been in such a close proximity with him , let alone in an empty corridor at night. He could easily push Potter away, though, make some nasty remark about all of it and get onto the familiar ground. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t  _ _want to__. And maybe that is exactly the answer he is looking for.

Potter shivers and Draco snaps his head up. He doesn’t have a clue of what is happening now but he isn’t sure he even wants to.

“Do you really want me to leave?“ Potter repeats his question, his eyes shining as the moonlight from outside reflects in his glasses.

“Yes," Draco answers, but even he doesn’t believe his own words, “that is exactly what I want.“

Something flickers in Potter’s eyes, but Draco isn’t able to find out what it is before sudden indifference covers Potter’s expression, the smirk slowly dissolving. The Gryffindor stares at him for a while and when Draco doesn’t say anything more, he moves around him and without a word takes a few steps away, the Cloak haphazardly thrown over his shoulder.

Draco’s mind comes back together as cool air hits his chest, it feels as if he’s been  __ Imperiused _ _  for the last couple of minutes and now is able to think for himself again. At least, with his  __ brain _ _ , that is. His body has quite a different opinion about the whole matter, though. He knows that he shouldn’t act based on his desires. He shouldn’t be there at all, in the first place. It is all wrong and unknown. But what feels even  __ more _ _  wrong is the lack of Potter’s body heat. He thinks he must be nuts, but his dazed brain is weaker than his other body parts and emotions, and before he manages to make himself shut up, he whispers “Potter, don’t go.“

Or maybe he  __ shouts _ _ , because that is exactly how those words sound to his ears in the silence of the castle. The black-haired boy halts in the middle of a step and when he turns, Draco holds his breath. He doesn’t know what he’s been expecting because really, what should one expect from his rival in a situation like this? Potter takes a few steps back in Draco’s direction, not close enough to touch him, his face still wearing indifferent expression.

“What? I thought that was what you wanted,“ Potter sneers in a for everyone completely bored way, but Draco recognizes a pose when he sees one. Potter’s voice trembles slightly and Draco knows right then that Potter isn’t as sure about this after all, either.

Draco knows the Quaffle is in his half of the pitch now and that he has to decide quickly. He takes the last step which separates them and once again, his and Potter’s chests are pressed against one another.

“What do _ _you__  want?” he asks. He doesn’t have time to think this through and he doesn’t want to either, knowing his brain would take matters into its imaginary hands and all this would be over. Maybe it would be the clever thing to do, too. But all Draco wants right now is to be close to the boy he’s hated for so long.  _ _Too__  long.

He looks at those green eyes again and immediately knows he’s lost. Potter’s answer is written all over them and they radiate some raw emotion Draco isn’t quite able to decipher. Hope, maybe? But hope for what? And Draco knows right then that, as stupid as it might be, he actually wants to find out. There is no way out now. He is so  __ screwed _ _ . And before he manages to talk himself out of it, he raises his hand towards Potter’s neck, bringing his head closer.

It’s not a kiss, it’s more just a light touch of lips on lips, but it doesn’t make it any less intimate or meaningful. And it is definitely enough to shatter Draco’s world. He looks up, face flushed and chest heaving against Potter’s, this time not so much with nervousness, but rather with something entirely different. His brain is racing with thoughts, but before he has time to do something,  __ anything, _ _  to stop this fantastic madness, Potter’s hand curls around his hip, bringing Draco’s body even closer to his, expression eager now, without a trace of previous unconcern. And so Draco tells his brain to back off, takes a deep breath and dives into the depths of another kiss, this time a proper one. His fingers caress back of Potters neck on their own accord, the other hand making the black mop even messier, as the mouth under his opens slightly and their tongues touch for the first time. It’s tender and  __ brilliant _ _ , and the world around him doesn’t exist anymore. Now, there is only him and this entirely new sensation coiling in the pit of his stomach, making his legs tremble slightly and his heartbeat quicken. He doesn’t register Potter letting go of his Cloak, now left forgotten on the stony cold floor, freeing his hand to caress Draco’s back. He relishes in the wet dance of their mouths, the kiss deepening with every second. It’s nothing he’s ever experienced and he’s enjoying it now, knowing it will be over.

 It is after few minutes, when none of them can deny their lungs fresh air any longer, but it feels too soon anyway. In this very moment, Draco is sure he would quite happily exchange the oxygen for another minute of this impossible bliss. He closes his eyes and lets his forehead drop against Potter’s, breathing in deeply, not quite ready to let go.  _ _Not yet.__  Potter smells like pure desire now and Draco wants to give in, let go of everything and let the moment embrace him forever. But as soon as his mind slowly starts working again, he knows this isn’t for him. No matter how desperately he wants it to be, he has no choice, really. Not with Potter. And anyone else, for that matter. He has his task to fulfil and can’t have himself distracted. He can’t let himself have  _ _hope__.

He untangles his fingers from the black curls and takes a step back. Potter’s eyes melt into his, taking in his every move, as Draco slowly shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” is all Draco manages to say, before turning on his heel and walking away fast, escaping Potter’s reaching hand. He lets his head turn around before he disappears behind the corner and gives Potter one last look, bidding him unspoken goodbye. Potter stands rigidly where he’s been left, staring after Draco with an unreadable expression in his face, but hurt seeps through his features and shines in his eyes.

 

 

 


	2. The Will

**Of Broken Souls**

**Chapter 1**

  
  


_July 1997_

Harry sits on the bank of the pond outside the Burrow, his back propped up against a tree trunk, elbows resting on his bent knees. It is a nice summer evening, the sun is still shining and warm breeze ruffles the surface of the pond, but Harry’s mood is under the freezing point. He's playing absent-mindedly with a small golden ball, letting it fly with its tiny wings from his one hand to the other, and watching a couple of ducks calmly sailing on the waves. Everything looks so calm and peaceful, but Harry knows it's just an impression. There is a war outside of this dream, a cruel battle between good and evil in all meanings of those words. A one he is supposed to fight. But he can’t, not yet anyway, and he knows that his time is still far away.  There are things to be taken care of first.

His eyes turn to the ball in his fingers. He’s been looking at it the whole afternoon, practically since he received it, as though it holds some secrets he is supposed to find out.

It was late morning that day, when Minister Scrimgeour appeared at the Weasleys’ with Dumbledore’s will in hand. Harry and his friends were very surprised, to say at least, both about the visit and its purpose. Neither of them could comprehend what the deceased Headmaster meant with the items he had wished them to have. They might have seemed as simple things to remind them of their previous owner, but all of the three friends knew better by then. If one thing was for sure, it was that Dumbledore never did anything without a purpose. Hermione was staring at the Tales of Beedle the Bard with wide eyes, flipping through its pages, trying to find a hidden message or at least a clue of what to look for. Ron, on the other hand, was fascinated by the Deluminator and kept clicking it, turning the lights on and off and looking into the shadows, searching for some hidden message as well. Scrimgeour didn’t seem to be interested in anything more than keeping the Sword of Gryffindor in Hogwarts, which was basically the first information Harry heard from him.

“Mr. Potter, I believe you understand that since Dumbledore actually didn’t own the Sword, you cannot get it into your possession. I honestly don’t have any idea how he could think such an ancient relic could be considered a private property. In any case, it is not,” Scrimgeour informed him in his stern voice, clearly expressing what exactly his opinion about the whole matter was. Harry just stared at him, unable to make a sound. He didn’t have any idea why for Merlin’s sake would Dumbledore have willed such a rare object to him. What was he supposed to do with it? The only idea which came to his mind was killing Voldemort. However, he couldn’t somehow imagine waving the weapon around his head being effective against, let’s say,  _ _Avada Kedavra__.

“Anyway,” the Minister of Magic continued, “now I am quoting, ‘To Harry Potter, I leave this Golden Snitch,’” now Scrimgeour reached into his pocket and when his hand reappeared, his fingers held a small golden ball, “in hope it reminds him of the time he was blinded by prejudice for the first time. Use it well, Harry.’ So here you are, Mr. Potter.” And that was all. With that said, Scrimgeour handed the Snitch to him and, with bidding them goodbye, he stood to leave the trio sitting stunned in the sitting room. He was already at the door, when he stopped as if the remembered something in the last second.

“Mr. Potter, could I have a word with you? In private?” he asked and gestured outside. Harry wasn’t particularly happy about the idea to have another completely fruitless conversation with the man. He had talked to him a few days ago, strictly refusing being a puppet at the hands of the Ministry. The whole talk hadn't ended pleasantly for either of them, leaving Harry feeling both awkward and terribly angry. What could Scrimgeour want now? Eventually though, he nodded and followed the Minister to the garden. As soon as they were out of the door, he turned to him.

“I’m sorry, Minister, but I believe I’ve made myself clear enough the last time we talked,” he said not too friendly, wanting the conversation to be over as soon as possible. They were slowly walking towards the invisible barrier around the Burrow, inside which no one could  _ _Apparate__.

“Indeed, you have. Nothing’s changed then, I take it?” Scrimgeour looked sour, but kept his tone polite. His only answer was silence. “Well, in that case, let’s get this over with. There is one more thing Dumbledore left to you.”

This got Harry’s attention immediately. “Is there? Why didn’t you give it to me inside?” he asked and hoped that he didn’t sound too curious. The fact was that he'd been secretly  _ _hoping__  there would be something else, anything, which would explain Dumbledore’s intentions.

“Well, Dumbledore had sent it to me the day he died with a note instructing to have it delivered to you in private. I am merely keeping his wishes.” Scrimgeour reached into his robes again and when his hand appeared, it clutched an ordinary white envelope. “Honestly, I don’t know why he wanted it to be this way, but I believe that, after everything he did for the Ministry, it's the least I can do,” he explained further and Harry only nodded. Finally something he could agree with. “Mr. Potter, I don’t know what your plans are and I know that the Ministry wasn’t always by your side, ( _ _Try never__ , Harry thought bitterly) but I sincerely wish you good luck. I think you will need it. We all will.” The man suddenly looked old and worn-out.

“Thank you. And thank you for your visit,” was all Harry could say. He didn’t mean to be rude, but all he could think of right then was the envelope handed to him.

“Goodbye, Mr. Potter.” With that, the Minister made a step, turned on the spot and  _ _apparated__. Harry stared at the place where just a second ago the wizard had stood with rather mixed feelings. On one hand, he wished he would never see the man again. On the other, though, he knew that if that became true, it would probably mean only two things – the Minister’s death or  _ _his__  own.

As soon as he got back to the Burrow, he informed Ron and Hermione that he would spend the afternoon outside. They didn’t ask him what was going on since he had done this quite often, practically whenever he had a chance to escape the neverending list of tasks to be done Molly presented them with every day. At the beginning of their stay at the Weasleys’, Ron and Hermione had thought he had been simply brooding about Dumbledore and everything that had happened during their sixth year at Hogwarts and tried to make his mood better, each in their own way. Whenever an opportunity presented itself, Hermione had wanted him to confide in her and talk everything through; Ron, not so keen on discussing anything, had preferred taking him outside to play Quidditch or degnome the garden or generally do anything which required physical activity. But Harry hadn’t seemed to be changing his habit any time soon, so both of his friends, after telling him for the umpteenth time he could rely on them, had given up and let him by himself.

Harry is immensely grateful for this development. He isn’t brooding, he is merely thinking about everything and trying to come up with some kind of a plan. He knows that Ron would happily help him with this particular activity, but somehow he can’t bring himself to ask. Maybe he’s been a bit selfish lately. Now, though, he is glad he doesn’t have to explain the need to be left alone. Both his friends would have understood, he is sure, but he also believes it is better this way.  He knows that the words in the letter, or whatever it is in the envelope, are the last message he will ever get from the Headmaster and it makes his mind more determined to follow the wishes of the old man. It also makes his heart hurt. He realizes that now isn’t the time for sentiment to get in the way and that the envelope may hold some crucial information, something to be acted upon immediately. The more he thinks about it, the more sure he is. However, reading the last words written before Dumbledore’s death would make it all the more real. He feels similarly to the way he did during Dumbledore’s funeral. He feels that another person he trusted, another person who resembled a father figure in his life, has left him.

Eventually, he knows it’s time. He takes the envelope in his trembling fingers and lifts it from the ground. He can’t let the emotion win over him, not now. Because that is exactly what Voldemort expects and what might let him win.

There is only one sheet of parchment in the envelope, covered from both wsides in Dumbledore’s neat handwriting. Harry takes a deep breath and starts to read.

__Dear Harry,_ _

__if you are reading this letter, it means that I am dead and you need to know some things I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you in person_ _ __. It also means that things went accordingly to my plan._ _

__I believe that by now you have also received some items left by me. I can’t say anything directly in case this letter gets into wrong hands, but it is essential that you pay close attention to what I am about to say. All of the items I leave to you, Mr. Weasley and Mrs. Granger are of great importance and will help you find the means to win this war. However, none of them will be of any worth to you, unless you have help from someone else, someone who has sacrificed all their life to this war and who is willing to do anything to destroy Lord Voldemort. I can’t say exactly who I am talking about, but the Snitch and the message from my will should help you figure it out. The person I am referring to is not someone you would willingly contact now, but it is of highest importance that you do. This person I trust with my life, today more than any other day, and no matter what happens, never doubt their allegiance to our cause.  Th_ _ __ey_ _ __also wished I didn’t tell you about them, but I believe you deserve to know. I know that you have no reason to believe that, but I hope that you will follow this advice. Overcome your anger and trust your instincts, Harry._ _

__There is one more person I need to mention. It’s a person who has been pressured to do things against his will, a person I 've seen suffer and haven’t done anything because I had to see the bigger picture. I failed them in many ways. I ask you to do the one thing I haven’t managed in my life. Give them another chance. Look into your heart, Harry, and you will know exactly what person I mean__. _ _It may not seem so, but they can be very helpful in this fight and p__ _ _ossibly__ _ _more useful than it may seem.__

__Harry, be strong and never stop believing in the most important thing in life, the power the Dark Lord knows not. It might be the only thing to help you win this war._ _

__Yours in life and death,_ _

__Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore_ _

  _ _P.S.: I want you to read this in private so you can decide who you tell  about contents of this letter. Choose those people wisely.__

Harry stares at the parchment for a couple of minutes, not able to compose a single coherent thought.  The letter is so _ _Dumbledore__ , full of riddles and hints he doesn’t understand. Rage is building inside of his chest. He's hoped that finally, after all those years of guessing, he would get some answers, something to build a plan on. Instead, he is even more confused than he was before and it makes him angry. He has to suppress the urge to tear the parchment into tiny little pieces and burn it. He doesn’t do it only because he knows he would regret it later. But the rage is boiling and he needs to let it out. He stands up and kicks the tree trunk, it doesn’t matter that his foot hurts. He does it again and again, uses his fits, too, until his knuckles are bleeding. He is angry and sad and the combination is engulfing. He doesn’t register the salty tears pouring from his eyes freely. He feels betrayed and alone.

He doesn’t know how long it takes him to calm a bit down, but after a while the anger subsides and he slides to the ground, finally noticing his eyes are wet. He focuses on breathing and a couple of minutes later, the anger dissolves completely, leaving behind only a dumb feeling of loss and hopelessness.

 

It is late after dusk when he returns to the house and goes directly to his and Ron’s room. It’s raining outside now, the room is dark, drops are drumming against the window glass and it feels oddly soothing. He knows it will take long to fall asleep tonight, since his head is still flooded with thoughts and memories. Harry knows that he should probably think about the content of Dumbledore’s letter and probably even act on it, but it is somehow extremely difficult to do that. He reaches for his trousers and finds the snitch in one of the pockets. He remembers the first time his fist closed around the tiny golden ball. It seems like a lifetime ago, although it was only about six years. His lips curl into a small smile, unintentionally, when he realizes that it actually wasn’t his fist what touched it first, but his mouth. Right after he had almost fallen from his broom. Hermione saved him that day, he remembers and his smile widens. But what happened that day that would help him discover the identity of Dumbledore’s secret soldier?  _ _In hope it reminds him of the time he was blinded by prejudice for the first time__  , the Headmaster’s will said. Harry tries to replay his first Quidditch match in his head. The moment fourteen players rose into the air and the match begun, the search for a glint of gold above the pitch, those horrible minutes spent hanging on one hand from the broom while it tried to shook him off thanks to Quirrell... Harry sits up in his bed so fast his head is spinning. The  _ _prejudice__  . They thought at the beginning that it was Snape who wanted to kill Harry. Hermione saw him mumbling a curse (which turned out wasn’t a curse at all but the exact opposite) and set his cloak on fire.

Harry has the feeling that his head might burst from the pressure inside. Is it possible that Dumbledore meant Snape? But how could he? After all, even if he did, it didn’t matter now, did it? The cowardly bastard killed him, Harry saw Dumbledore plead for his bare life, he saw Snape raise his wand and utter the killing curse in cold emotionless voice. Once again he has to think bitterly, how could have such a clever wizard fallen for Snapes lies? Dumbledore always trusted the Potion Master, ever since Harry can remember. It is surprising that the memory of that night doesn’t enrage Harry once again. Instead, he reaches for the letter hidden under this pillow and unfolds the parchment for the second time that day. He wants desperately to find another clue, something to tell him that the old man didn’t mean Snape, but someone else. Because if it really is Snape, than they all are damned.

Harry scans the letter once more, reading very slowly this time, trying to find some hidden message between the lines. He doesn’t find anything, so he tries again and again, but after a while, the words start to blur before his eyes. He hasn’t found anything and the desperation threatens to overwhelm him again. He decides to read it once more and then just give up.

“...It also means that things went accordingly to my plan,” he whispers to himself the first lines of the letter and suddenly it hits him. What plan is Dumbledore talking about? He finishes the letter fast this time, seeing it in a completely different light, finally reading between the lines.

He is happy to be sitting now, otherwise he knows that his knees would give in. He can’t believe what he’s read, doesn’t dare to believe it could be truth. How comes he hasn't seen in before? It was clear as a day now. It was Dumbledore’s plan  _ _to die__  that night on the Astronomy Tower. It was probably also his plan to have Harry watching the whole scene. It sounds so bizarre even in his mind, but it's the only explanation Harry can come up with. It all makes _ _sense__. If Dumbledore believed Snape was on their side and hadn’t planned to do anything to be doubted, he wouldn’t have pleased Harry to contact him, because Dumbledore simply wouldn’t have expected any change in behaviour of the Order towards Snape. But if Dumbledore knew that Snape was about to do something which would make him practically a pariah in everyone’s eyes, including Harry’s, it would explain why he insisted that Harry forgets the anger and contacts his former teacher. If he wrote this letter knowing about such a thing, it meant Dumbledore still trusted the man. And it also meant that Dumbledore knew that Snape would be the one to kill him. It was all planned and it was so  _ _wrong__.

Another wave of anger burns inside Harry. Dumbledore manipulated him into believing Snape killed him. He made him believe he was alone in the middle of the war. Of course there was Ron and Hermione, but he realises he needs an adult figure he can rely on. He hated Snape, he did indeed, but he still was a valuable ally. And then there was no one. He has felt so lost for weeks, drowning in despair. And meanwhile, there was still Snape, who willingly let everyone hate him and think he was a murderer. A _coward_.


	3. The Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry it took me so long to post another chapter, but here it is. It's a bit longer than the previous two, but also full of mistakes. I will try to get rid of them later but for now I just wanted to post the chapter, so please, don't hate me for the SPaG issues :)  
> Also, in this chapter is a very large dose of Ginny. And because I like her character (in books) quite a lot since she can be a proper badass, there definitely ISN'T any kind of Ginny bashing. 
> 
> I hope you like it :)

Harry wakes up early and, in spite of the previous day’s events, in a good mood. He sighs and sits up, trying to find his slippers somewhere under the bed with his bare feet, while he’s looking outside the window. The sky is clear and the sun is shining, the storm got rid of the tension in the air there was yesterday. Birds are chirping somewhere in the trees, the sound is occasionally disturbed only by Molly’s voice telling someone what to do and, more often, what _not_. Harry smiles to himself. It’s perfect for a wedding. There is no need to mope around and he will do his best do enjoy the day, probably the last free one for a very long time.

He thought a lot about what he should do before he fell asleep last night and there is only one way to start. He has to leave the Weasleys’ and look for a way to contact Snape as soon as possible. Today isn’t an option, since he doesn’t want to disappoint the people who have been no less than a family to him for the past six years, he cannot destroy the wedding by his leave. So he decides that he will stay for the day and leave at the dawn the next morning. He knows he has to tell Ron and Hermione about his plans at some point, the question is how much he should reveal. The things he’s learned are still fresh and he feels oddly vulnerable even thinking about them, let alone revealing them to anyone. The knowledge that Snape isn’t the bastard they all have taken him for is something he has to keep to himself, the Potion Master’s life might depend on it, after all. Harry refuses to picture what could happen to the man he’s hated his whole life and who, against all odds, has probably become his only chance to survive and win.

His look turns to Ron’s bed, which is surprisingly empty. It’s unusual for Ron to be up before Harry is, but today is a bit different, Harry guesses. His toe finally hits one of his slippers and after kneeling and fishing the other one with his hand, Harry heads to the kitchen. The delicious smell of fresh bacon and eggs with mushrooms make his stomach growl and Harry realizes that he hasn’t eaten anything since lunch the day before. He is also no longer surprised Ron’s been downstairs long before him – nothing can make his best friend get up as easily as his mother’s breakfast. He’s on the second floor, when a creaking sound of a door being opened behind him makes him stop.

“Harry, come here for a minute, can you?” Ginny whispers and sticks her head in the small gap between the door and a wall, looking around the hall to make sure nobody can see them. Harry falters. He’s tried to avoid Ginny for the last couple of days of his stay at the Burrow, but even he isn’t too naive to think he can postpone the inevitable conversation forever. He looks unsure, but Ginny only smiles at him and opens the door all the way, clearly inviting him to come in. So Harry does, feeling his guts tighten. 

“Morning,” he mumbles, “what do you need?” he asks her, trying to sound happier that he feels. 

“It’s not about what I need, but what I want,” she answers simply and sits on her bed, making herself comfortable with her feet tugged under her. She pats the place next to her.

Harry’s been to her room once or twice before, since it was also Hermione’s room during their summer stays at the Burrow, and he likes it. It’s a small cosy place, nicely decorated and a girl’s touch is clearly visible, but it’s nothing as the room he imagines Lavender Brown lives in. The walls are coloured with a nice shade of brown and, compared to Ron’s horrible shade of bright orange, it’s quite pleasing on the eye. Not that much of the wall is actually visible, though, since most of it is covered with posters of famous Quidditch Players - Gwenog Jones is smirking provocatively from the largest one. Harry tears his eyes from the Beater and, with obvious discomfort, looks at his girlfriend before sitting next to her at the bed-foot, not too close to her to feel uncomfortable, but not too far to offend her, either. She’s watching him, her brown eyes are big and shining in the morning light, the sun is making her long red hair resemble fire. She is as attractive as a woman can be, Harry supposes.

“So, uhm, what did you want?” he starts when she’s just sitting there, obviously unaware of his nervousness. 

She smiles at him in a way that would make most of guys’ knees go weak.

“Harry, you don’t have to look at me as if I wanted to eat you alive,” she jokes and all Harry can do is fidget. He’s never been good with girls and it’s been a long time since was with Ginny alone. He’s always found a good reason to excuse himself, not that he had to do that often, since Molly’s been on his back all the time since he came to the Burrow this year, making sure he doesn't have a possibility to talk with Ron or Hermione in private and providing him with too many activities and tasks to have time to do anything else. It is annoying, Harry has to admit, because there are some pressing issues to be discussed with them, but on the other hand, the constant need of something to be done or prepared for the wedding provides him with a way to escape the girl. It isn’t as if he doesn’t want to talk to her per se, though, he likes her a lot. As a _friend_. And that is the problem. 

Harry and Ginny have been together, if the state of things can be called so, since the late spring.  At first, things went well and, although Harry’s reasons to kiss Ginny that evening after the Quidditch finale when they became an item were far from what she believed and what he tried to convince himself of, he was happy. At least as happy as he ever dared to believe he would be. But after a while, when their relationship started to get more physical, something in Harry always made him stop. Ginny was gentle and understanding, probably thinking he was only being shy and unsure about the whole matter, but the fact was that Harry simply didn’t _want_ more than a little snogging. He didn’t want to touch her intimately and soon he ran out of excuses for why he didn’t want to be alone with her. That, of course, made the time they spent together even more uncomfortable. He understood she must have been thinking that she was doing something wrong and that it wasn’t fair to either of them, but he’d never found enough courage to say something. Yet, he couldn’t make himself to act the way she wanted him to, either. So much for his Gryffindor character, he thought bitterly. Fortunately for him, the end of the school year came soon and he was almost grateful for it. He only needed to sort things out in his head. It was only a teenage confusion, he thought at the time, although a week at the Dursleys’ later, he had to admit that it wasn’t the case. Harry knows he has to end things before he leaves to hunt the Horcruxes, but a part of him has hoped a miracle would happen and he wouldn’t have to hurt her.

“I know that you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but I wanted to wish you happy birthday, Harry,” Ginny finally says and when she senses Harry is going to interrupt her, she only raises her hand to keep him silent. “I know I’m a day late,” she continues, “but I couldn’t find you yesterday to give you my present.” 

She gives him a smile and moves closer to him, and suddenly Harry feels like he’s suffocating because all he can see are her breasts in that tight shirt, moving closer to him, and all he can think of is how the hell is he going to get out of this situation without causing some serious damage to the friendship he hopes will remain between them. _She wants to have sex_ , he thinks frantically and it doesn’t help his breathing any. He moves a bit backwards and he’s sure that if Ginny hasn’t noticed his discomfort before, she will notice it now. The girl, however, doesn’t seem to be bothered by it in any way and simply reaches with her hand somewhere behind Harry, where, as he suddenly remembers, is located her writing desk. She grabs something and returns to her original position. When Harry looks at her again, she is clutching a small package in her hands and watches him intently. He wants to slap himself for letting his brain come to conclusion so fast. It’s helped him many times, but, on the other hand, many times it did not.  She only wanted to give him a gift, for Merlin’s sake. He makes himself look at the girl, feeling a bit more content now when no imminent danger of intimacy is looming over him.

“Oh, Gin, you didn’t have to...” he gets out of himself and the feeling of guilt which settles in the pit of his stomach whenever he sees her gets heavier. He feels like he’s making a fool out of her, and it definitely isn’t his intention.

“I know I didn’t, but I simply wanted to. Harry, you are one of the most important people for me, so I believe it’s only natural that I want to give you something for your seventeenth birthday.” The gentle smile she gives him is kind and Harry feels even worse.

“Gin, thank you so much, but I can’t take it, I’m sorry,” he says and stands up, staring at the gift and not her face. He knows that if he doesn’t do anything now, he never will, but he also knows that if he sees her face go sad, his resolution might falter.  “I have something to talk to you about and I really don’t think that taking that,” he gestures towards the package, “is the right thing to do, all considered.” 

Her grip on the package tightens. “Harry, I didn’t ask you for a permission, did I?” The smile retreats from her features, only her fierce gaze stays. “Anyway, let me finish and then you can tell me whatever you want, okay? Just sit back down and let me finish this.” She resembles her mother so much that he simply does what she asked him. She hands him the gift.

Harry merely nods and takes it. “So, what is it?” he asks, doing his best to sound unbothered by the whole situation. She turns a bit nervous at this.

“Open it and you’ll see,” she raises one neat brown eyebrow challengingly.

Harry knows he can use his wand to open the present, but it is much better to tear the wrapping paper off with his fingers. A small wooden box appears. Its lid is decorated with runes made in gold and Harry has to admit it looks fancy. And it definitely looks like nothing he’s ever got before. He hesitates before opening it. Something feels off about the whole situation and the way Ginny looks at him only adds weight to his thoughts. She is smirking and that is never a good sign. Harry remembers the last time she wore that expression too well, he had to live with the consequences for weeks when people tried to find out if he really did have a Hungarian Horntail tattooed across his chest.

Harry eyes his gift suspiciously, turning it in his hands, but curiosity wins over him eventually and he opens it with trembling fingers. And there, in velvety looking clothing lies a small oval silver locket on a delicate silver string. The same runes as on the lid are carved into it in an artistic manner and although Harry doesn’t have a clue what they mean, he finds it beautiful. He picks the locket from its box and lets the string slide across his fingers. When he finally looks up at Ginny, he’s afraid he won’t be able to speak thanks to the lump in his throat that keeps growing with every second.

“I don’t know what to say, Gin. It’s beautiful,” he smiles sadly at her, “But I have to admit I don’t have a clue what it’s for.” His confession makes Ginny’s face suddenly turn serious, every trace of her previous smirk is wiped away.

“I will tell you, but promise me that you won’t interrupt me, because I’m not sure that what I’m doing is right and I don’t want it to come out wrong.”

“What are you talking about, Gin? How can I promise such a thing when I don’t know what you want to do? It’s not too bad, is it?” His look turns back to the locket.

“No, or at least I hope not.” She smiles shyly and moves closer to him, but this time, Harry doesn’t move away. Something keeps him in his place. He’s not sure if it’s the expression in her face or her trembling hands, but in that moment, it doesn’t matter. She takes his hands gently in hers and looks directly in his eyes. “What I gave you is not a normal locket, it’s a Promise Locket,” she starts and Harry inhales sharply at her words. _Oh no, let this not be what it seems,_ he thinks desperately _._ “This is an old pureblood traditional gift and although I don’t like much of the pureblood crap, I like this one. It has a similar meaning as the engagement ring, but it seems more romantic to me. You simply put your picture to one half and some small personal item, it can be your hair but anything else, too, to the other half and then give it to the person you love and who you believe is your soul mate. It’s a promise to the other that you’ll always be with them and, for some wizards, it means more than wedding rings,” she says and Harry is suffocating again. “Harry, now, I want you to open your locket. Don’t ask me why, but do it,” she requests and Harry is so shocked by it all that he obeys. 

It doesn’t open easily, especially when his fingers have obviously stopped listening to his brain, but after a while, an almost inaudible _click_ can be heard and Harry slowly opens the locket. It’s empty.

He stares at it for a minute in absolute confusion, and then glances back at Ginny. Her eyes are now coated with tears.

“What...?” 

“I’ve bought this for you,” she swallows, “because usually this kind of things passes in families, but since you are my family, too, I thought you should have one for the moment you find the right person.” Tears are now freely rolling down her cheeks and she tries to dry them without much success. “I know it’s not me, though, Harry. I am breaking up with you.”

Harry is very happy that she's asked him to sit before giving him her gift. He simply stares at her, his mouth agape.

“I’m sorry, but ...what?” He is sure he must have misunderstood her. 

“Don’t make me repeat it, Harry. You know what I said.”

“But...why?” His brain somehow cannot catch up with his ears.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but we just didn’t work. I was thinking about breaking things off at the end of the school year, but then all the things with Dumbledore happened and I didn’t want to make you upset... But when I saw how apart we’ve grown over the last month, I figured that maybe you felt the same way and...”

She doesn’t have the chance to finish her sentence, because Harry impulsively throws himself on her, hugging her for what he’s worth. It’s too much for him, he is full of emotions. He expected anything but this. His mind is racing and his heart feels as if it’s going to explode in the next second.

“This is the best gift ever, Gin,” he whispers into her neck. He only realizes how wrong it came out when he hears her chuckle. He sits back, but he’s still close enough to see the trails her tears made on her face. He wipes them away with his thumbs and then takes Ginny’s face in his palms. 

“You know, that was pretty offending,” she says,  glaring at him, her eyebrows mockingly raised.

“I’m sorry, I mean the locket, not that you... you know. I wanted to tell you something before, but it never felt like the right moment and...I’m sorry it worked out this way and I really do love you, but more like a sister...,” The words are pouring out of him all of sudden.

“I know, you don’t have to explain anything. I know exactly how you feel because I feel the same,” Her smile is back and this time, it makes her face glow without any restraint. 

“You know, one day, you’re going to make some guy very happy. You’re beautiful and funny and awesome...” he tells her and he means it.

“Just not enough for you,” she says sadly, but she’s still smiling.  It makes Harry’s heart hurt.

“I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, so am I.  Now that this is out of the way, tell me, Harry, is there some other girl you would give this to?” she gestures towards the locket.

Harry looks at her in utter disbelief. She’s just broken up with him and this is the first thing she’s interested in?

“Gin, I don’t think that...” he tries.

“Oh, come on. It’s not as if we haven’t been over for a month or so, only now it’s official between us,” she reasons. “So is there?” she presses and Harry knows that she’ll get the truth out of him either he wants it or not. And she deserves it, too.

“No, there’s no girl,” he answers honestly. He picks the locket from the bed and plays with the string, careful not to break it.

“What a shame, I wanted to tell Ron that you cheated on me with someone, that would make things easier for me than explaining it was me who ended it,” she jokes. “So, no one, really?” she asks again, but this time his negative answer wouldn’t be as honest as it was when she asked before. He keeps silent, pointedly looking at the jewel in his hands and trying to ignore her. Maybe, if he keeps this charade long enough, she will let it go.

No such luck, though. “So is it a boy, then?” She is evidently interested and he can feel his cheeks flaming red. She’s catching up fast.

“There might be, I mean, I have noticed someone, but I would never _ever_ cheat on you, you know that, don’t you, Gin?”

“Of course, I do,” is all she says. “However, in this case, let’s just say the truth to Ron and all of them,” she points her finger at the floor, clearly referring to all the people in the lower floors. “They might have a heart attack.”

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“What do you expect me to say, Harry? I can’t tell I’ve expected to hear that but it explains so many things! And certainly it explains your lack of interest in the sex department. With me, as in a girl, I mean,” she suddenly looks almost pleased. “Huh, I almost turned a gay Harry Potter straight, I must be pretty damn attractive, after all,” she exclaims and grins. 

Harry can’t do anything but smile back at her and then laughter starts to bubble inside his chest. A low chuckle escapes him and in a second, both of them break down in a laughing fit so strong it lasts couple of minutes.

Later, they are lying next to each other on Ginny’s small bed, trying to catch their breath, but both of them feel so much lighter than they did in the morning.

“I love you, Harry,” Ginny says after a while. “In a brotherly way,” she adds and turns her face in his direction, before punching him with her fist lightly in his upper arm.

“I love you, too,” He retaliates and punches her right back. 

 

 

 


	4. The Fourth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here's another chapter. I hope you like it.

The rest of the day passes in a blur. Harry enjoys the company of his friends, some of whom he hasn’t seen in a couple of years, and he feels content. Having Ginny by his side without any pretence is something he highly appreciates, especially when she saves him from a couple of Fleur’s cousins who have him cornered at one point, obviously attracted to him in spite of his ginger Glamour. Ginny promptly appears and announces that she wants to have a dance with him in a possessive manner. In any other situation, Harry would do anything he could to avoid that particular activity, however, in this moment he is grateful for the plausible reason to excuse himself from the eager veelas.  And he has to admit that he has a good time stumbling around the dance floor and laughing together with Ginny whenever he makes a wrong step. He pretends he doesn’t see the wishful looks Molly is sending in their direction, obviously hoping that one day her daughter will be the main protagonist in a similar event. Harry knows she will be disappointed, if not hurt, by the recent development, but there’s nothing he can do about it. She will get over it one day. For now, though, both he and Ginny has agreed that they won’t tell anyone about their break up. Everyone expects them to put their relationship aside for the moment anyway and it wouldn’t help anyone to tell the truth.

The sun starts to fade and the celebrations are still in full swing when Harry excuses himself from a conversation with an elderly witch who explains enthusiastically the principles of kneazle breeding to him and heads back to the house and up the stairs to his and Ron’s room.

Both of his friends are already waiting for him there, they have agreed upon this little meeting at one point of the day. None of them felt like discussing serious matters during the celebration. But time is running fast and Harry has to explain his plans to them, or at least his next few steps.

Ron and Hermione are both sitting on the floor next to each other, having a silent conversation about something, but they abruptly stop talking when he opens the door. He silently sneaks inside, hoping that no one saw him coming there, before casting strong silencing spells on the room. Both his friends look at him in question, but he simply sits opposite to them, watching them in silence and trying to come up with some kind of an opening sentence. He doesn’t have to think long, though.

“So, Harry. When are we leaving?” Hermione asks in a tone which suggests she’s just asked about his dinner. Harry stares back and fro her and his male friend. “What, did you think that we didn’t figure out you were planning on leaving?” She frowns at him.

“Honestly, mate, you’re crazy if you really think that, after all we’ve been through, we’d let you go alone,” Ron adds, shaking his head.

Harry has to suppress the urge to hug them both. He has to admit he hasn’t expected nothing less of them, but he wouldn’t pressure them to it, knowing the dangers of the path he’s about to take. He wouldn’t hold it against any of them if they chose to stay behind this time and he realizes that although now they are willing to go with him, their resolution might waver after he tells them what their first place to hide is. Maybe, Harry thinks, it would be nice know they are safe for once. It’s nice to hear that they are there for him, though.

“I...I don’t want to make you do anything, it’s my choice, my fight. I didn’t think you’d actually want to go with me if I didn’t ask you to,” he confesses eventually.

Hermione moves a bit to the side so she’s closer to Harry now. She gently touches his shoulder.

“Harry, I think that we know each other long enough to tell you this openly. ARE YOU REALLY THAT STUPID?” Harry almost jumps at the sudden rise of her voice. He gapes at her in confusion, but she continues as if she hasn’t noticed his shock. “How can you think we wouldn’t want to go with you? We’ve done everything together and we aren’t planning on changing a thing about that. Did I make myself clear?” Harry has a sudden feeling he’s been somehow _portkeyed_ to Minerva McGonagall’s office , because he feels as if he was being lectured by the Transfiguration Professor herself. He stares at his best friend, but he can’t find a word to say, so he simply nods. Hermione throws him her _no discussion_ look, but in a second her face softens. “Harry, I know you don’t want us to get hurt, but this is not only your war. This is about all of us and it’s not your choice if we want to fight or not. We’ve made our minds,” she says, her voice silent but firm.

“Exactly. We’re going with you, no matter if you like it or not,” Ron nods in agreement. The silent conversation the two of them held a few minutes ago suddenly makes sense.

Harry manages to give them a small smile. He is relieved he won’t be alone and with Hermione and Ron by his side his chances of finding the remaining Horcruxes are higher. On the other hand, though, there is the question about how much he should reveal about Snape. He knows he will have to, at some point, but talking about it here, at the Burrow, feels dangerous.

“Fine, you can come,” he finally says and he can see the weight being lifted from his friends’ shoulders.

“Great,” Hermione claps her hands enthusiastically. “So, with that off the table, what is your plan, Harry? Where are we going?”

 _Now is the right time to explain at least some things_ , Harry tells himself.

“There is something I haven’t told you,” he starts cautiously and can see the immediate change in Hermione and Ron’s features. He stands up and walks towards his bed, fishes Dumbledore’s letter from under his pillow and returns back to his place. Both his friends’ eyes are hanging on his lips as he opens the envelope and plays with the parchment in his fingers.

“What is it, Harry?” Ron asks, looking anxious.

“This is a letter Dumbledore sent me as a part of his will,” Harry explains, tracing the outlines of the parchment with his fingertips. Hermione’s glare is glued to the letter. “Scrimgeour gave it to me yesterday before he left.”

“And?” It is obvious that both of them have to keep themselves from reaching for the message.

“It doesn’t explain much about Horcruxes, but it says that we need a help from an ally. I know who it is, or at least I think I do. I will let you read the letter as soon as we’re out of here, now is not the time. However, thanks to the letter, I know where we have to go and what we have to do as soon as we are there.” He stops playing with the parchment and looks from one anxious face to another. He takes a deep breath. “We’re going to Number 12, Grimmauld Place.”

He sees the moment when his friends catch up with his words. Ron throws him a look clearly indicating he’s insane, but it’s Hermione who actually voices the thought.

“Are you serious, Harry?” she asks, her doubts are clearly written all over her face. He stares firmly at her and nods. “Snape knows about the place and for sure Death Eaters know now, too!”

“No, they don’t.” Hermione watches him in disbelief.

“How do you know? Of course they know about the place! Snape must have told them for sure!” Ron interrupts. Then his eyes fall at Dumbledore’s letter. “He told you to go there, didn’t he?”

“No, Ron, Dumbledore didn’t tell me anything about Grimmauld Place. But if there’s a safe place for us right now, it’s there.”

“How can it be? Dumbledore’s dead and we all are the Secret Keepers now, including the bastard!” Ron is almost yelling now. Harry tries to keep calm, he’s expected this kind of reaction. He talks in low but serious voice.

“Snape didn’t tell anyone. I will not say how I know that, not here and not now. I have to go there and I have to do some things before I can actually go after the Horcruxes. The question is, are you with me or not? I am not making you do anything and I won’t be angry if you change your mind. But I am doing this, with or without you.”

“Stop it, Harry, of course we’re going with you. But how can you be so sure?” Hermione asks.

“I promise I will explain everything as soon as we have a bit more time and privacy for that, but for now my word has to be enough.”

Silence falls and they all can here cheerful guest from downstairs.

“Fine,” Ron says eventually. “I only hope you’re right, though. It’s not only our lives on the line here,” he points out the thing Harry’s been wondering about a lot during the day. Harry suppresses the uncertainty with the thought that they have no place else to go, anyway. And he feels in his guts that the decision he’s made is the right one.

“So, now back to my original question,” Hermione says, standing up and starting marching around the room. “When are we leaving?”

 

They spend an hour making a plan and when they all agree they won’t come up with anything better, they return back to the garden to enjoy the last minutes of entertainment. None of them notices a slight movement in the corner of the room as they leave.

 

The night lasts forever, or it feels like that to Harry at least. To say that he hasn’t slept much would be an understatement. He’s kept rolling on his mattress not able to find a comfortable position and his mind has been full of what they were about to come across in the upcoming weeks and months. The longer he lies, the worse the scenarios become and he is almost grateful to hear Hermione’s light knocking on the bedroom door.  He watches her slip inside the still dark bedroom with bleary eyes and his head pounding. He hears Ron mumble something from the other side of the room and from the sound of his voice he can say that his friend hasn’t have much sleep, either.

Harry lets his feet fall down from his bed onto the cold floor and it wakes him up a little. A cold shower would be much more efficient way of getting rid the numbness, but there’s no time for that now. They will be lucky if they actually manage to not wake anyone in the house.

Hermione sits on his bed and starts to explain in a whispering voice what she’s packed during the few minutes she had at night before Ginny came to their room. There are two bags laid at the feet of Harry’s bed, both of them obviously under Hermione’s enlarging spell. First of them, a small satchel, contains the most important possessions they have, including the Marauders Map and a couple of books about Horcruxes. Also, a few pieces of clothing are there in case they have to leave in a hurry. The other, bigger, backpack, Hermione explains, is full of other books and Hermione’s clothes.

The girl opens the larger bag and whispers to both boys to put all the clothes and personal possessions they want to take with inside. They move quickly and in a couple of minutes they’re ready to go. Harry searches the room for one last time to check that he hasn’t forgotten anything, making sure his wand and the Invisibility Cloak are securely stuffed in his pocket, as well as the fake locket.

They creep through the house, careful not to step on any of the creaking stairs and all of them are relieved when the doors of the Burrow silently closes behind them.

“It’s no way to go back, you know that. Any second thoughts?” Harry asks silently as they make their way toward the invisible barier around the Weasleys’ property. Both of his friends shake their heads in response. Harry knows it has to be very difficult especially for Ron. He’s leaving his whole family behind and the knowledge it might be the last time he sees his home must be fairly depressing. Harry feels the same way as he looks at the building. It’s old and it looks as if it would fall apart any minute, but to Harry it was his second home, right after Hogwarts.

When they cross the border and Hermione extends her hand to Apparate them, it feels as if he’s leaving a part of his life behind. But they are doing it for all the people he’s ever cared about, to save all of them and all of the happy memories. He thinks about Ron’s parents and what it will feel like to them when they find their rooms empty in the next few hours. He thinks about Ginny and the moments they shared in the morning the day before. It hurts him to leave.

He looks at Ron and can only admire how strong his friend is to leave this all behind. The redhead stay firmly next to him, his features hard, but Harry can see the regret with which he stares at the place that’s been his home for seventeen years.

Without a second thought, he grabs Hermione’s offered hand and Ron does the same. The girl closes her eyes, her brows curled in concentration and he waits for the moment his world starts spinning. It doesn’t come.

An angry girl’s voice comes instead. “Wait, you idiots!”

Harry snaps his eyes open and turns only to see his ex-girlfriend marching across the porch with determined expression, a small bag thrown over her shoulder.

“Go home, Ginny,” Ron whispers angrily at her, but she only shakes her head, glaring daggers into her brother’s face.

“Oh, I don’t think so. You think you are so clever, aren’t you? To leave and not say a word? Pff,” she spits.

“What do you want, Gin?” Harry asks as calmly as he can, although his heart is beating fast now. How could she know what they had been planning? What if the others know, too? He throws a worried look towards the house and his worries must be projected in his features.

“Don’t worry, Harry. They don’t suspect a thing.” Ginny turns her glare at him. “And to your question. I am going with you,” she announces as if it was the clearest thing in the universe.

“Of course you aren’t. Mum would kill me,” Ron hisses in disbelief.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t go, Ronald,” Ginny hisses back and Harry decides that although he isn’t happy with the idea of the girl coming with them himself, it will be better to let Ron deal with it. Hermione observes the whole situation without a word.

“Well, for one, we are of age, unlike you. And it’s going to get dangerous.”

“Like you were of age when you went to the Chamber of Secret, you mean? Or how we all went to the Department of Mysteries a year ago? Don’t make me laugh,” she retorts and the determination in her face grows visibly stronger.

“That was different, and you know it.”

“No, it wasn’t. And I’ve made my choice.  I’m coming with you and that’s it.”

Ron turns in despair towards his friends. “Why aren’t you saying anything, both of you? One of you must have told her, right?”

They don’t get a chance to answer. “No, it weren’t them. I heard you yesterday, I was under the Invisibility Cloak in the room when you planned all this...” she gestures towards all of them, “adventure. Only a troll wouldn’t notice that you are up to something. And what a girlfriend would I be,” she throws a devilish look in Harry’s direction,” if I let my boyfriend let go alone? No way. Now move, I think we have a place to be, don’t we?”

Harry only gapes at her in confusion. Where did she learn such _Slytherin_ manners? He honestly didn’t expect her to exploit the state of affairs this way. It hurts a bit, but on the other hand, he has to admire her cunning.

He looks at the sky nervously. The night is retreating and sun is rising at the horizon.  They have to leave.

“I’m sorry Ron, we have to go. It’s Ginny’s choice and I’m not happy about it, but right now, leaving is the priority here. We will deal with her later,” he says, knowing that Ron will throw a fit about that the minute they step inside the Grimmauld Place.

“Harry is right, Ron. We don’t have time,” Hermione agrees suddenly, her voice firm, and takes his hand once again in hers. Ron looks at her in disbelief, opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, before nodding in defeat.

“Fine. But if something happens to her, it’s on your conscience.” All three of them nod.

“So let’s go, then,” Ginny smiles winningly and sneaks her palm into Harry’s. It calms him a bit, feeling the warm skin against his.

When he closes his eyes this time, the swirling feeling inside and darkness engulf him. The next time Harry opens them, they’re standing outside the House he wished he’d never set a foot into again.


End file.
